My life now

I’ll be the first to say it: I’ve been disgustingly slack at putting any blog posts up lately.

It’s annoying, because I’ll think of something part way through the day that I want to write about, but by the time I get home from work and do all the things I want to do, I’ve either forgotten, or I just can’t be bothered. I feel a little guilty.

So here’s what’s been up since the last time I posted:

• I’ve been writing a bunch of cool news stories. In fact, I was on my way to work the other day when I saw smoke. Having a little time on my hands, I decided to head over and check it out. It was a house burning down. I felt like a real journalist. I even got there before the fire engines did. Neighbours were gathered out on the street in their dressing gowns, and there was one man there who still had shaving cream on his face.
• I’ve been playing squash with a friend, and slowly getting better at it. Slowly. My boyfriend bought me a squash racquet for Christmas, and I’m unreasonably excited to use it.
• I went to the beach with my Wanganui family, including my cousin’s three small children. They’re still a little shy around me, but the three year old spent half the day putting sand on my leg, so I take that as a sign of acceptance. Possibly the cutest part of the week was when my uncle was swimming in the waves and dived underneath. The three year old, who was up on the sand, stretched out his hand and cried “Poppa!” in the most devastated voice I’ve ever heard a toddler use. He then burst into tears, thinking his grandad had just been washed away in the surf.
• I came over to Tauranga to spend Christmas with Sam and my family. Because I’m a clever cookie, I asked for a particular three days off and now I don’t have to go back to Wanganui for nine days.
• I’ve run out of things to talk about.

The new girl

I’d like to think my first day at my new job was a success, considering I came into work today and discovered a story I’d written on the front page of the paper.

There’s a different feeling being the new reporter, as opposed to being the intern. I don’t know if it feels this way for everyone, but I feel far more at home. Maybe it’s because I have my very own desk, computer, and log in account, or maybe it’s just because the people I work with are patient, helpful, and absolutely lovely, but I think what it probably comes down to is my frame of mind.

I finally feel as though I deserve to be here. I got the job because I impressed them and worked hard throughout the year to get good experience and grades. It wasn’t a case of me walking up and asking to do experience, and them putting up with me while I pottered away on some story. I was actually wanted. That’s a really great feeling, and I’d say it’s a good part of the reason I feel so comfortable.

I’ve observed that notes seem to pop up magically in my workspace without me noticing. I was working away at my computer when I glanced to my left and noticed a note with a name, phone number, and instructions not to name the person in the story I was working on. I never saw anybody put the note there, so I can only assume it is witchcraft. Later in the day, I noticed a sticky note on the bottom of my monitor telling me a patient I’d been calling the hospital about had been discharged. Where did this information come from? One can only wonder.

If the random notes aren’t confusing enough, I somehow ended up with four phonebooks on my desk.

Today I found myself wondering if journalists develop a special ability to stop elderly people rambling during interviews. The woman I was speaking to was lovely, but boy, could she talk. When the photographer and I were finally ready to go, she would not let us leave before taking a fun-sized chocolate bar each. She then grabbed my arm, pulled me in closer, and said “You have a very pale face”.

It’s an interesting job, there’s no denying that.

Difficult kittens and new lives

Well, I’m officially a resident of Whanganui now. I’m settled into my cousin’s house with my cat, and I start my new job on Monday. It’s hard to believe it’s actually happening.

The drive down was a nightmare.

The problem is this, you see. Tonka likes to be out of his cage in the car, BUT THREE TIMES NOW he has pooped in my car. This isn’t something I really want again, so I decided to keep him in his cage. At least, then, it would be contained.

Now, the last time I took him on a long car trip, I discovered I could let him out of the car for a walk without worrying about him running away. This is no longer the case. He starts exploring, and he doesn’t stop until he’s out of sight. I even lost him in one of those drain pipes that run underneath driveways.

The first place I let him out for a walk in, he behaved. Here he is, contemplating life. 

About halfway through the trip, Tonka started to pant like a dog. He does this occasionally when he’s tired or hot, and it always looks hilarious. I pulled over at another rest stop and tried to give him some water. The little monster wouldn’t drink it. I tried everything – pushing his face in it, putting it on the backs of his paws, squirting it into his mouth – nothing worked. He just wasn’t interested. I was becoming increasingly worried because his panting was starting to get heavier. Eventually I just squirted water all over his fur and turned the air conditioning towards his cage, hoping that would help cool him down at least. It seemed to do the trick, because he stopped panting after that, though he did start doing cartwheels in his cage trying to escape the air conditioning. For some reason, the wind is fine, but any machine-made breeze is witchcraft and must be avoided at all costs.

The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful, bar the four flocks of sheep we came across while driving through the Paraparas. Tonka was very alarmed at the incessant baa’s, because he could only hear, not see, them.

I’ve already let him out of the house. He’s perfectly happy to go explore and then come back inside. He also, apparently, has a fascination with my bedroom window. This is the second time so far I’ve caught him hanging out it like this.

Cats.

Bamboozled

For my last full day in Tauranga, I went shopping with my mother today. ‘Shopping’ of course, means ‘walking around the mall with Mum while she spends her birthday money and buys me lunch’.

We were in a clothes store and Mum had gone into a dressing room. My feet were a little sore, so I perched on the only chair there was. Moments later, I saw and old woman heading into another dressing woman, with her elderly husband hobbling in my direction. I was about to get up and offer him my seat when he walked towards me looking like he wanted to say something. Leaning in close, he said to me “There’s an urgent call for you, they need you to get up and go answer the phone!”

I stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before he started laughing. I laughed too, when I realised it was a cheeky attempt to trick me out of my seat. I got up with a chuckle and let him sit down.

When Mum opened the door to show me her dress, she looked at the man for a moment, then said “You’re not my daughter.” She then showed him her dress and joked around with him for a bit before returning to her dressing room. When the man’s wife came out, she said “he’s been flirting with everyone, hasn’t he?”

I was amused.

As the old couple left the shop, the man leaned over and thanked me for the seat.

“You tricked me,” I grumbled back. “I wouldn’t have given it to you otherwise.”

I like old people.

Not long to go

Two more nights and I’m off to Whanganui for what I’m sure is going to be a big adventure.

It’s strange to think I’ll be moving there – it’s never a place I thought I’d end up living. Life is funny, though. With any luck, I’ll be able to see my boyfriend often enough that I don’t go insane. I’ve already informed his best friend (who lives there) that we’re going Christmas shopping together, and that I’ll start playing squash with him to work up my fitness. Seriously, I felt puffed after walking up a flight of stairs the other day, I am in dire need of some exercise and healthy food.

On that note, wow, squash is good exercise! I played it when I was last in Whanganui, and was so tired by the end of it I nearly felt like throwing up. The next day I had aches and pains in places I didn’t realise I was even working out.

It won’t feel like I’ve truly moved away from everyone for a couple of months though. I’ll be back in two weeks for Christmas, and then a week or two after that I’ll be back here again for my birthday. After my birthday, though, that’s when it will start feeling real. That’s when the uncertainty kicks in – how long do I go without seeing Sam? Family? Sacha?

I’ve already promised Sacha I’d come back to Hamilton when her pregnant horse gives birth, but that’s a while away still. By the way, I saw a horse ultrasound the other day. Interesting experience. (I got horse poop on my leg.)

So, anyway, adventure time. Bring it on.

Ups and downs

When I went to my dad’s house the other day, my little sister walked up to my car as I pulled in to the driveway.

“Why does it say ‘help’?” She asked me, pointing to the word I’d scribbled in the condensation a few days ago.

“I was feeling sad when I wrote it,” I said with a shrug.

“But . . . why is there a smiley face beside it then?”

“Because I drew that earlier, when I was feeling happy.”

She looked at me like I was a super weirdo.

Unfortunate timing

I had a pretty ridiculous day yesterday.

I’d been visiting my dad in Auckland, and was on my way home to Tauranga. The weather was miserable, so I had my window wipers going. As I pulled into a rest stop along the Auckland motorway and drove up to a petrol pump, my front left windscreen wiper snapped off. Needless to say, I was sufficiently bewildered.

I got out of my car and picked the blade up off the ground. The connector holding it to the arm had simply broken. I have no idea why.

‘Oh well,’ I thought, ‘At least it’s only the passenger side. I’ll get it fixed when I get home.’

I carried on my merry way for a couple more hours. I’d passed through Waihi about 20 minutes ago when, with a clack and a clatter, the front right windscreen wiper snapped off too and dropped onto my bonnet. I stared at it in disbelief for a couple of seconds before I realised I now could not see out my windscreen. With a few muttered swear words, I quickly pulled over (I was lucky there was room).

Putting on my hazard lights, I clambered out of my car and into the rain (which was absolutely bucketing down at this point) to see if I could slip the blade back on. Nope, same problem as the other one – the connector was broken.

I climbed back into my car and fought back a few frustrated tears. What was I supposed to do? I was still 40 minutes away from Tauranga, and what could anybody do for me anyway? I called Mum and she suggested trying to tie the blade back on with something until I could get home. It was just my luck that I didn’t have anything to tie it with, bar a hairtie (which did not work, I tried). Mum suggested using a pair of underwear to tie it with. I was not keen on that.

By now I was thoroughly soaked from standing out in the rain trying to tie the blade back on with a hairtie while cars and trucks sped past, whipping up huge clouds of water. It was then I realised, after a quick look behind me, that there was a driveway only a few metres back.

Very carefully, and very slowly, I backed my car up so I could turn into the driveway, stopping every time another car went past. It was tricky work, considering all I could see out my windows was a vague blur of road, trees, and oncoming headlights. Eventually I managed it though, and quickly drove up the driveway, jumping out of my car to run to the front door.

I don’t know what the old lady who answered the door would have thought to see me standing there looking like a drowned rat, but she quickly ushered me inside out of the rain. After explaining my dilemma to her, she called out to her husband, who donned a raincoat and gumboots to come outside and help me. It was quickly apparent, however, that there was nothing he could do. Tying it back on, he said, was not going to work.

He told me I was only six kilometres from Kati Kati, and drew me a map to get to the workshop that could fix my wipers. I’d just have to drive very, very slowly, he said.

Then I was off, sitting hunched over my steering wheel trying to see through the water on my windscreen. It was a nightmare. I made it to the workshop though, and half an hour and $60 later, I had working windscreen wipers. The driver’s side one had a broken bolt, the man said, and had slowly been getting worn out. Today, of all days, was when it couldn’t take it anymore apparently. It was simply a horribly ironic coincidence that the passenger side wiper had snapped on the same day.

What a day to have just such a malfunction.

Dear Sacha

After living together for two years, we’re finally going our separate ways. It feels like not very long ago we were running around with baseball bats warning people of the impending zombie apocalypse for a class presentation. That was fun. It’s strange to think that after a hug and some almost-tears (you know, the kind that collect on your bottom eyelid but never actually fall, and eventually mysteriously disappear), it’s all over.

We’ve had our fights and annoyances, but we’ve also weathered a fair few storms together, helped each other cope with the stress and dramas of flatmates with suspected personality disorders, and we’ve stuck by one another when it felt like we had nobody else. It’s certainly felt a lot like that lately, and you were the best person to have by my side through all of that. I’ve never had a friend like you before.

Here’s a few things I will and won’t miss.

WILL MISS: The conversations. We could start chatting about something meaningless and eventually branch off into a zillion different philosophical topics, and we’d only stop talking until we realised several hours had passed. I love that we can disagree on something and have a really mature, well-rounded debate about it.

WON’T MISS: The shoes. The shoes everywhere. I wasn’t really allowed to keep shoes in the doorway as a kid, but you seem to think it’s necessary to have them there. In your defense, you’ve definitely shrunk the pile of shoes you keep by the door.

WILL MISS: The stupidity. Like chasing each other down the street in our togs with buckets of water even though we’re in our twenties.

WON’T MISS: Flooding the house. How many times have we managed that? Four times in two years? Granted, most of the time it wasn’t our fault. At least we have a well-established system now whenever it happens.

WILL MISS: Being able to grab the cat, a couple of towels, and a bottle of wine and go sit down in the gully making daisy chains.

WON’T MISS: The tissues that seem to accumulate in various places on the floor.

WILL MISS: Cooking new meals together when we had no idea how to make them, but would wing it anyway and come up with something delicious.

WON’T MISS: Your washing machine and vacuum cleaner. They’re terrible and I hate them.

WILL MISS: Sharing cool songs we found on the internet.

WON’T MISS: . . . I’ve run out of things I won’t miss.

WILL MISS: Seeing your family and your boyfriend, who has fluffy hair.

I could probably list a lot more things that I wish I didn’t have to leave behind, but I’m getting bored of the list format. I just want to say thank you for sharing these last three years with me. We’re keeping in touch, no buts about it.

Love, Melissa.

(Please take all the “won’t miss” parts as tongue in cheek. I’m probably going to start piling shoes in the doorway to feel like you’re still here . . . )

Cam

When I was ten years old we made a few big changes in our lives. Our family moved from Auckland to Tauranga, and we got our first dog. 

Cam used to belong to the people down the street. I used to walk past their house on the way to school and walk up to the fence to see him. My stepbrother would always pat him, but I was usually too afraid, because dogs were scary and Cam was a playful biter. He was still only young.

Nearly 11 years on, it’s the end of the road for Cam. Last time I saw him he seemed normal. Happy, affectionate, a little pushy for attention. Congestive heart failure struck quickly, however.

I received a text from my stepfather today, telling me Cam was sick, and would be getting put down later today. Luckily I happened to be over in Tauranga visiting my boyfriend, so I was able to go over and give the dog one last cuddle.

The change was dramatic. He almost seemed normal at first. He walked up to me and licked my face when I came through the door. His tail wagged a little. But it quickly became apparent how tired he was. Even while he was just lying on the floor, he panted as if he’d been running. His resting heart rate was about twice the speed it should have been. He used to let out a bark whenever we stopped patting him, but he’d given up on that now.

I have a lot of fond memories of Cam. When I was younger we had some family friends come to visit, and one of the boys was playfighting with me. I was screaming, as kids do, and Cam looked at the boy, put his hackles up, and started growling at him until he moved away from me.

Cam used to come over and stick his nose in my face if I cried. I’d pretend to cry sometimes, to see what he’d do. Sure enough, moments after I’d buried my face in my hands, a big, wet dog nose would push its way between my fingers. He was the sweetest, most gentle dog I’ve ever come across.

He once appropriated my little brother’s moonhopper, and thoroughly molested it. He loved that moonhopper, literally. He loved it so much, in fact, that the poor thing eventually popped.

He’s caused his fair share of trouble too, though. We had a quad bike at our old house that he loved to run behind, and he’d get irrationally excited whenever he heard it start up. One day Nana was over to visit, and was standing in the gateway when someone started up the bike. Sam was through that gateway like a shot, and we all got a shock to see Nana lying on the gravel, having been knocked over by an overenthusiastic dog.

Another time one of our rabbits escaped, and Cam rolled her halfway down the driveway with his nose before Mum managed to grab him.

Cam was never the dog I expected to go first. I thought we still had a few good years left in him yet. I just hope where he’s going has all the moonhoppers he could ever hope for.

Good dog.

Sharing pain

I don’t have much to say about this, except that it really gets you thinking. I’ve never had any self-harm inclinations, but I thought this was an interesting point of view on the situation.